How Long Is Forever, Arnold?
by chinyemagne
Summary: Helga, a developed artist in several mediums, for the first time is unable to find inspiration for her current sculpture, as her long-time means of inspiration is now gone. Chapter 1: Backseat Part I
1. Prologue

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How Long is Forever, Arnold?

Hmm…I seemed to have forgotten my disclaimer the first time I posted this story, so I shall put the disclaimer up this time, the disclaimer that will serve for the entire story. And wow, it's been ages since I've updated…yikeys…

Standardized Disclaimer: I, Chinyere, under my pen name, Chinyemagne, hereby acknowledge that I do not own Hey Arnold! nor the characters that are referenced within, nor am I a hired writer with permission to use their names on this site. However, there is a likelihood that original characters will be created and portrayed within this text. Thank you.

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Prologue

From a distance, all one could see of the room was that which fell under the dim light, flickering from behind a door half closed, half opened. The flickering circles of light seemed to dance to the rhythm of the music of a small portable stereo, which sat on the hardwood floor next to the door through which the light was coming. The volume of the stereo was set to almost the minimum volume, almost the point at which no human ear could detect sound. It was barely audible, but audible enough to eat into one's subconscious mind.

And from these flickering golden circles of light, one could see a shadow, seemingly dancing along with the lights; the shadow of a figure that sat behind the door, half opened, half closed. If one should peak around the corner of that door, one would see the object casting the irregular, undulating shadow. One would then notice that the object casting the odd shadow was human.

Dressed plainly in that which could be called pajamas, comprised of an old t-shirt and a pair of pink and white polka dotted boxers of origin she'd rather not disclose, the figure, clearly female, could be seen kneeling behind that door, now presumably the door to a closet of sorts. A young woman, with golden locks of hair hanging from her shoulders in two distinct ponytails, with large blue eyes, stared up at what is presumably her creation. From her perspective of the piece, all one would be able to see is a relatively smooth yet dull surface, the whole creation being undistinguishable from such a perspective.

This woman squinted at this small portion of the piece, sucking in her lips and chewing them occasionally in the midst of her concentration. After a few moments of almost utter silence, save for the portable stereo running a commercial in the background, the silence was broken by a frustrated grunt from the young woman, the object of our observation, and she melodramatically fell to the ground. If one were to back up from the scene, one might now see the full contents of the closet in which she occupied.

Behind, above and below the clothes themselves, which occupied little of the closet's space, were several artifacts that may be appealing to one's eye. Below the hanging clothes were several sculptures, constructed from various mediums, all representing various levels of care and completeness. Of the crudest was one constructed from assorted colored clay, long dried and cracking in brittleness, with a large distortion across the front of the figure. Of the most appealing was a statue of sorts shaped like a human figure but plastered as a collage with colorful pictures and cutouts. Above the hanging clothes, in shelves, were several volumes of books, some written and some read, of varying sizes and color. Behind the clothes were hidden manifestations in visual art form, effectively never seeing the light of day.

If one were to focus back on our subject, one might notice the tears welling in her eyes as she lay on the hardwood floor, not concerned in the least with the sound her melodramatic impact had made. She lie there for a while, sobbing softly, letting the salty tears flow freely from her eyes to the sides of her cheeks, and onto the floor. After a few moments of sobbing, she finally picked herself up, rubbed her eyes, and glared back at the piece in which she had been working. After an abrupt laugh, and a final wipe over her eyes, our subject finally spoke.

"Damn. You'd think I'd have enough inspiration from all of this---what happened---to be able to finish," she said, scooting herself closer to her work, picking up a chisel, and altering a piece of the sculpture. As she worked, the song on radio began to etch into her mind, and gently her mind was lulled into increased comfort as she continued her work…

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Pray God you can cope

But I stand outside this woman's work

This woman's world

Ooh, it's hard on a man

Now his part is over…

Before, however, she was completely lulled into comfort, the antics of her parents disrupted her restful state. Suddenly at another door, which can be seen to the left and behind our subject, knocking could be heard. At first startled by the knocking, our subject only glanced at the door before deciding it was less important than her task at hand, continuing with the chiseling. Before long, a voice could be heard from behind the second door of interest.

"Helga, I know you're in there!" the rough voice bellowed, though coming off slightly muffled, from behind the door. Helga nodded in response to the statement, before digging deeper into her closet and finding another tool in which to manipulate her work.

She chuckled lightly, as if showing her indifference towards he behind the door. "Very astute observation, Dad. Yeah, I'm in here alright," she replied, rather softly, as she continued to focus on her piece.

Another voice could be heard from behind the door, it being more muffled and soft that the first. "What your father means to say, Helga, is that we were wondering if you were alright. I mean, you've been up here for quite some time, and we hadn't heard a word from you, and after all…" the voice said, before trailing off.

"I'm fine, Mom," Helga said, shaking her head at her mother's attempts to be coherent that late at night. "Don't worry about it…I'm just doing something I have to." On that note, after the footsteps could be heard as the couple left down the hallway, the virtual silence returned.

Again left to her own devices, Helga was able to concentrate on her work again. As she fingered the contours of her sculpture, she gradually slipped back into the mode of ease, of extreme comfort. And as she did this, her mind began to reel, rewinding to a day that had passed for everyone else much like that day had, merely a year before. Her mind rushed past everything, and immediately she was a year younger. As her mind traveled back into time, she let her concentration slip and she removed her hand from the statue. Before she was completely lost in an uncontrolled flashback, the words of the continuing song became etched into her mind.

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I should be crying but I just can't let it show

Should be hoping but I can't stop thinking…

And within an instant, she was there.

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Borrowed Works: Maxwell for _This Woman's Work_


	2. Backseat I

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The Backseat (I)

Within an instant, she was completely transported to a time, exactly a year ago by the next morning at approximately 8am. Upon her harsh jolt into the recent past, Helga was slightly confused to say the least. She found herself sitting on the front steps of her house while the sun still lingered in the eastern sky, casting her shadow onto the concrete that was the house's front steps. Helga glanced down at the shadow and noticed that her hair was now let down, and shoulder length. As she took a loose strand hanging in front of her eyes into her hand and looked at her freshly clipped ends, a somewhat brisk summertime wind reminded her exactly what the purpose of that day had been, and why she was waiting on the stoop of her home. She let go of the strand of hair and let her shoulder-length hair blow in the wind, as she glared impatiently in the direction that the wind blew, waiting to make the trivial but somehow life-altering endeavor.

Following the wind to the other side of the neighborhood, one could clearly see a similar site to that of Helga. A young man could be seen sitting on the stoop of a grand old house, greatly deteriorated and a shadow of it's former self, while our subject fiddled idly with the seam of his pants. When he raised his head from his present engagement, one could see that he, too, was looking expectantly in the direction to which the wind was blowing. Although rubbing his fingers through his hair, the blonde locks returned to their previous position on his face, under the influence of the wind. The young man then stared absently at the sky, although his thoughts certainly could not be classified as absent. He had begun to observe the velocity of the clouds in the sky being blown by the wind when his signal, the cue he had been waiting for, was suddenly manifested.

"Hey Arnold!" a resonating yet edgy voice called from inside of a 1983 Chevy Caprice. Arnold looked from the sky in time to see the car pull to a stop in front of his boarding house. "Man, I thought you were done with all that daydreaming stuff!"

Arnold stood, dusted off the back of his sweats, and hopped to the bottom of the stairs. "Oh, sorry about that Gerald. It's just that, I was looking at the different cloud formations, you know, the cumulous clouds, and I was…"

"Just daydreaming," Gerald filled in, leaning out of the passenger side window of the car, narrowing his eyes at his best friend. "Don't I know it. Like every day in your life," Gerald laughed as Arnold stepped forward to open the door to the back seat of the car.

The driver of the car turned his head as Arnold attempted to open the right door of the car. "Hey, man, you gotta get in on the other side…that side's busted," he said as Arnold tugged on the door of the car, to no avail. Gerald laughed as Arnold walked to the other side, brushed against the car, and tried to wipe his sweats off, again.

"You might as well not dust yourself off, Arnold. Harold's got a lot of dust collecting in his backseat, since he hasn't seen a lot of action back there lately…" Gerald wasn't even able to complete the statement, as he trailed off into laughter. 

Harold glared at Gerald after that statement. "Hey man, you're walking a thin line here…" he warned, pointing his index finger at Gerald as he continued to chuckle. Arnold scooted into the backseat of the car, and noticed that it was literally dusty. He swiped his finger across the seat next to him and scooped up a thick layer. Arnold then closed the door behind him and sat carefully on the seats.

Gerald then sat back in his seat and strapped on his seat belt. "Aw, come on, big guy. You know I'm just playing," he said in a chuckle, looking intently at Harold until he decided to return the chuckle.

"Whoa, Gerald, you weren't kidding. It is awfully dusty back here," Arnold finally said, as he settled into the seat and tried to forget how dirty it was.

As Harold started the engine, he began to get a little defensive. "Well, this was my Dad's car that he bought when I was just a baby. We hadn't used it in years, and it was the only way I was ever getting a car of my own, so yeah," he explained, as he drove into the street from in front of Sunset Arms where he had parked. "And I'm lucky my Ma's letting me drive at all."

"Man, all that matters is that you have the wheels, and you have the license. I wish," Gerald said, leaning back in his seat. "I mean, face it Harold, you now have _the_ life. You can live by yourself if you want, you have a car, you can drive…you have a steady job. What more could you ask for?"

Harold shrugged off Gerald's comment, and then declared, "Well, it's all relative, I guess."

"Please!" Gerald exclaimed. "You wanna know how many lies I had to tell to pull this thing off? My Mom thinks that Arnold and I are going down to Elk Island for the day…not over the boarder and out of state!" Gerald explained, grinning widely as he did.

Meanwhile, still unnoticed by them, Arnold remained silent in the backseat, as he watched the familiar streets pass him by. Immediately, he was struck with an intense bout of nostalgia, the type that removes one from their bodies and carries them through the moment slow motion, as if documenting individual frames to etch into one's memories. Arnold somehow knew that this was one of the last times he would see Hillwood in this perspective, and that it was only a matter of time that his life would change forever. But he didn't know exactly when. Besides, as they drove towards their next destination, all he could think about was…

"Arnold, are you awake? You can't be flaking out on us already, we haven't even hit the freeway yet," Harold said, his voice suddenly piercing through Arnold's thoughts. Arnold shook his head and widened his eyes so that he would look more alert.

"Yeah, I'm awake…I'm just, thinking, that's all," he excused himself, as he took the opportunity to stare out of the window. Harold glanced briefly at Gerald for an explanation of Arnold's behavior, but Gerald only responded in a shrug. As Arnold looked out the window, he recognized the tops of the buildings they were driving past. He knew by now that they had reached their next destination and he overzealously flung the door to Harold's car open before Harold was done parallel parking.

Helga looked up just as Arnold flung open the door and walked behind Harold's car as he continued to park it. She enthusiastically gathered herself and her small backpack and walked down the steps to her house and met Arnold halfway.

Harold also got out of the car after he parked it and opened up the hood. "Well, I guess this gives me time to refill my windshield washing fluid," he said, a little too loudly, as he observed the meeting of Arnold and Helga. Gerald simply cracked the window of the Chevy and watched the two out of the corner of his eye. The meeting was so odd in nature that even passersby glanced over their shoulders at the two.

"Hey Helga," Arnold said casually, as he walked enthusiastically up to Helga, who was trying her best not to grin wildly. "So, are you ready to go? Everything clear with your folks?"

Helga suppressed her amusement and intense excitement enough to nod. "Yeah, ready as I'll ever be. I didn't expect, though, that I'd be escorted to my seat by a chauffeur, Arnold," she declared, this time unable to hold in her chuckle. Arnold then flushed slightly, which in turn made Helga laugh more, all of which made Gerald sick. He sunk in his seat and sighed in exasperation. While this scene progressed, he saw a little girl with braids approaching from the other side of the street. He gasped and sunk lower in his chair when seeing her.

"Heya, Arnold," the little girl said, as she interrupted the awkward hellos of Arnold and Helga. The two looked down at the child and smiled. "I need to talk to Gerald right away, no funny stuff. I know he's around here somewhere," she said, arbitrarily looking around the vicinity of Helga's porch before walking directly to Harold's car and onto Gerald.

Gerald, knowing that he'd been discovered, sat up in his seat and prepared to bargain. "Okay, okay, you found me. What do you want, Tim?"

Timberly then opened the door to Harold's car and smirked at her brother. "Oh, I am _so_ onto you, Gerald," she admitted, crossing her arms. "You didn't tell me you were going out of state with a friend of yours driving this…this thing," she said, pointing to the car and wrinkling her nose. "I'm gonna have to tell Mom for sure."

After seeing this, Helga left the uncomfortable gaze of Arnold and took a bill from her wallet. She then handed the bill to Timberly, who took it immediately and examined it. "Here's ten bucks saying you'll keep quiet about this whole thing, alright?" Helga reasoned, glaring at Timberly. After little deliberation, Timberly reached in her pocket and gave Helga a five. "What is this, change?"

"Well, I was only going to ask 5 more of Gerald, so I gave you the difference," Timberly reasoned, then pocketing the ten. She then squinted up at Helga, blinking her eyes in minor recognition. "You're that Helga chick, aren't you?"

On that note, Helga chuckled at Timberly and loosened up. "Yeah, that I am…that Helga chick everyone's always talking about," she confirmed, knowing well of her minor infamy.

Satisfied with her discovery, Timberly nodded. "Well Helga, I guess I'll be seeing you around, then," she declared, leaving the scene much in the way as she had entered. Helga and Arnold watched as Timberly marched away, while Gerald sank deeper into his seat.

"Ey Gerald, your sister…she's a cute kid," Helga finally said when Timberly was out of earshot. Arnold, who for the moment was still standing on the sidewalk in front of Helga's house, approached the Chevy and leaned against the side of it where Helga was standing. Helga glanced at him briefly before returning her attention to Gerald. "How old is she?"

Gerald groaned with the mention of his sister. "Aw, Tim? She's just in her terrible nines," he whined, waving off his kids sister. "I'd wish she'd hurry up and grow up, though." Helga nodded at Gerald's assertion, and looked off into the distance as Harold refilled the wiper fluid. As she stared into the distance, Arnold found himself staring at her. He had not seen her since the end of the school year at their former school, and in his eyes she had changed dramatically. She was no more the awkward preteen that he had come to know with a pimply face, harsh dye damaged hair and the unfortunate choice of clothing. In fact, Helga had cooled down dramatically in a matter of months and, though she was young, mellowed evenly into some sort of maturity. Arnold was finally able to break out of his trance long enough to hold coherent small talk with Helga.

"Whoa, Helga…you got your hair cut," he finally was able to offer, hesitating before he said anything else.

Helga nodded and instantly launched into conversation. "Yeah, I had to. And it took me forever to grow out the bleached part long enough so I could," she said, pulling at a strand of her hair. "Arnold, do me a favor. If I ever am convinced to dye my hair black with red highlights _again_, knock me out, would you?" Helga asked, turning to Arnold and putting her hand on his shoulder.

This was the icebreaking moment for the pair, as the remembrance of the hairstyle caused Arnold to begin laughing profoundly. Helga joined in his laughter, and both of them leaned against the car as they did. As the laughter cooled after gasping for breath and sighing on both sides, they looked into each other's eyes briefly before returning to the conversation. "Yeah, I didn't want to say anything, Helga, but…that was really weird."

Helga then waved off the incident, then shook her head. "Ah, I did it mainly to piss off Bob, because he was always criticizing the way I dress. So, I got him something else to look at. Miriam just cracked up at me any time she saw me, which is the most rise I've gotten out of her," Helga explained, looking back towards the house as she spoke, and sighing.

Harold suddenly closing the hood of the Chevy, interrupting any continued conversation. "Okay, done. We're ready to get going," he said, pumping his fist as he got back into the car.

"It's about time, Harold…" Gerald hissed through clenched teeth at Harold, who shrugged as Helga climbed into the car. Arnold climbed in after her, and took the left seat while she took the right, next to the door that would neither open nor close. "If we want to get back in any time at all, we were supposed to leave seventeen minutes ago," Gerald complained, looking out of the other window.

"Relax, Gerald. Seventeen minutes is not that much to be off schedule. Besides, on the freeway, we'll probably make better time since the construction is over," Arnold reasoned, adjusting himself in the seat just to realize that he had settled in more dirt than he did on the other side of the car. Harold put on his seatbelt again and within an instant they continued down the road towards downtown where they would later exit onto the freeway.

Helga picked up some of the dust in her hands and ground it between her fingers. "Whoa, look at this dust. It's in layers!" she commented, wiping her hands off on her skirt before crossing her legs. "Harold, I'm figuring either you sat on the dust buster again or you haven't seen much action back here lately."

"Look, Helga, if you have a problem with my car, you can get out and walk. I didn't _have_ to drive you kids here, you know," Harold responded defensively, as he turned the corner sharply at the next block.

Helga was unfazed by Harold's threat, and shrugged it off. "Aw, come on, Harold. You know it was a joke…you don't have to get all sensitive on me," she said, rolling her eyes at Harold, who still wasn't amused. While this interchange was underway, Arnold stared out of the window and watched the town pass him by, and Gerald observed the occupants of the Chevy with his mirror in the sun visor. "Speaking of sensitive, we're changing our plans slightly, and since I am the official backseat driver, Harold listen up." Helga said, leaning forward in her seat and looking Harold directly in the face as she spoke.

Harold looked at Helga in partial surprise. "Change the route? But we've had this one planned for a week now, I can't just change where I'm going," Harold whined, stopping abruptly at the streetlight and causing Helga and Arnold to fall slightly forward.

"No, I'm not asking you to change your route…you can keep it. We're going to a different parlor, that's what I'm changing."

This caused Gerald to finally enter the conversation. "Change the parlor? But Helga, aren't you forgetting that places that will take us are really hard to come by? And besides, we already planned out the price for Pete's, and I don't think we can budget any farther into our schedule…"

"If you'd listen to what I've got to say, _Gerald_, you'd understand," Helga interrupted, leaning forward as the light turned and Harold progressed on his route again. "Not only is the parlor in mind closer, but the prices are cheaper. _And_, they'll not only serve us, but they do more than Pete's does," Helga rattled off, hugging onto the neck rest of Gerald's chair as Harold sped along.

Arnold perked up as soon as they had passed through the city and exited onto the entrance ramp onto the freeway. "So, what compelled you to change?" he asked, leaning against the window of the Chevy and putting one foot up on the seat, the dirtiness of which he had forgotten completely about.

Helga turned her attention to Arnold and leaned back into her seat, and crossed her legs again, suddenly conscious of the fact that her skirt was probably riding up. "Well, in the interest of time, I asked around to see if anyone closer to the city did piercing and tattoos without the whole parental consent thing, and I was told about an underground thing that's still alive a bit closer. I heard it was tons nicer than Pete's also," she explained.

"Wait…I'm confused," Harold admitted, scratching his head with his free hand and driving with the other, contorting his face while he thought. "What did sensitivity have to do with this?"

"Huh?" Helga responded.

"You said, 'speaking of sensitivity' and then told me this…but…"

Helga chuckled. "Oh, that? I just said that because I heard that this one girl tried to get a piercing 'down there' and got an infection or something from Pete's, and that nothing like that had ever happened at the other place, which says something about cleanliness." On that note, all of the males in the car were instantly repulsed, and silence ruled for a few uncomfortable moments. "Jeez, if I had known you guys were going to react in _that _way, I wouldn't have said anything," Helga said, crossing her arms and leaning against the window.

"Well, at least she spared us vivid imagery this time," Arnold said, shaking the thought out of his head. This caused Helga to throw back her head for an abrupt laugh, and immediately all of the tension between the two dissolved. Harold and Gerald felt it as well, though both startled by the sudden outburst, they smiled at each other as they heard the two erupt into fits of laughter. Gerald then changed his smile into a scowl, and again sunk into his chair.

Helga stretched in the chair and then leaned on the door opposite Arnold, resting her head on the window. "Boy, am I glad to get away from that house. One more second and, I swear to God, I'd explode," she began ranting, tugging at her hair for emphasis.

"Don't tell me…Olga just came home from Alaska, right?" Arnold asked, narrowing his eyes.

Helga chuckled shortly. "Oh boy, not even. She's been home for a few weeks now, and I swear, every time she stays is longer and longer until one of these days she's going to come back to live."

"But I thought she liked it in Alaska?"

"She loves it in Alaska. But if I know my Olga, I know that the teaching Inuit children trip can only feel rewarding for so long. And it's been four years since she graduated from Bennington, and I guess she feels like she should be doing something else, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Aww _man_, I can feel it in my bones…this girl's got something up her sleeve. And whatever it is, I wish she wouldn't do it here," Helga protested, banging her head against the window.

As she did this, Harold looked to the back seat. "Helga, I wish you wouldn't lean your head against my window. I just cleaned it, and you don't want to leave a grease spot again," he shot at her, narrowing his eyes.

"Again, huh?" Gerald questioned, eyeing Harold.

At this, Helga chuckled. She noticed as Arnold's eyes widened in suspicion, but said nothing. "Oh, touché Harold. Too bad your meager attempt at a comeback---too late, I might add---has forced me to bring up that if anyone left a grease spot on your window, it would be Rhonda, not me," Helga retorted, flashing her eyes as if to exaggerate her innocence.

Gerald, who had began to tune Harold's radio, stared at Harold in amazement. "Rhonda? Rhonda Wellington _Lloyd_? Ugh, I don't see how anyone could stand that…"

"Aww, what's to stand or understand? She's just a prep, she's not like some…bitchy Aphrodite like everyone's making her out to be. She's the same Rhonda who hid her brow under her bangs as a kid," Helga protested.

Arnold, who sat back and quietly observed the interchange, re-entered the conversation. "So, Helga, if Rhonda's a prep, what category would you put me in?"

Slightly flabbergasted by his question, Helga choked on her saliva and then clutched her chest before she was able to answer, slightly hoarsely. "I don't know Arnold…you're not exactly classifiable, if you know what I mean." Between this statement, there was an awkward pause that Harold acknowledged and Gerald ignored while he continued flipping stations. "What category would you put _me_ in, Arnold?"

Without thinking, Arnold quickly responded, "I'd put you in the…um…'"

"Hey Gerald, quit messing with my radio already. Jeez!" Harold's antics interrupted Arnold's thought, and disrupted the moment further.

Gerald stopped on the station and then turned the radio up full blast. "Aww, c'mon Harold, don't be so uptight. Besides, I like this song." Gerald began to bounce his head to the beat of the music.

"And I hate this song. Turn it off!" Harold protested, as Helga put her head between the two front seats.

"Hey boys, get along. Don't make me have to come up there. And Gerald, turn the frickin' radio down, will ya? There, compromise," Helga said, before plopping back down in her seat. She then turned her attention back to Arnold, and sensing that the present conversation was going no where, she changed subjects. "So Arnold, how did the old folks take the news that you were getting your ear pierced?" 

Arnold, relieved that the subject had been dropped, exhaled and looked out of the back window as he spoke. "They didn't take it any way. I didn't tell them. Everyone was asleep at the boarding house this morning, so I just figured I'd leave and let them figure out whatever they wanted to later," he replied easily, shrugging off the apparent indifference.

"And when you come back with a hole in your ear…?" Helga inquired, leaning closer to Arnold and pulling on his left earlobe.

Arnold, raising an eyebrow at Helga's sudden friendliness and blind intimacy, keenly narrowed his eyes at her as she looked into them absently. "I haven't figured that out yet," he almost whispered. The two of them stared at each other, closing in for what appeared to be a kiss before Helga burst out laughing, and Arnold followed. In their laughter, they bumped heads and fell onto their respective sides of the backseat. Gerald averted his eyes from what he was watching in the mirror in the sun visor, and gazed out of the window at the quick moving freeway traffic.

Helga and Arnold were at it again. Those were little games they played. Gerald couldn't help but feel a little bit jealous of the relationship between Arnold and Helga. Though supposedly words had been said between the two years ago and some type of mutual understanding met, Arnold and Helga had never been anymore than friends. But theirs had not exactly been a blossoming friendship, as everyone in district 11 knew. What made Gerald uneasy was the thought to losing his friend due to some flimsy relationship with a unpredictable wild woman who had somehow become his friend again, after seeming to be indifferent about the relationship for the entire eighth grade year.

The most it had ever been was friendship. What was next…friendship with benefits?

The thought sickened him, and he shuddered visibly and audibly with the death of the thought. Though Harold glanced over at him over the wheel, he thought little more of the incident than a sudden chill, and shrugged it off as he changed lanes to pass a truck. Arnold and Helga simply ignored him.

After calming their seemingly useless laughter, Helga straightened herself in the seat to resume the conversation.

"So yeah, Bob had to leave super early for some meeting at the Emporium and Miriam doesn't really give a flying fart what I do, so I was able to just leave. Cool stuff, wouldn't you say?" she said offhandedly, wiping some of Harold's dust off of her shirt.

Arnold's eyes widened at Helga's revelation. "Wow, so your parents really don't care, huh?"

Helga snorted. "Basically. Maybe Bob would care if he were a little bit more perceptive to the changes in my life. But no, life is bliss as long as Olga's around in that respect."

"Still, but having folks like that allows you a certain amount of liberty, doesn't it? You have more independence, the ability to make your own mistakes and decisions…you must learn a lot, don't you?" Arnold asked, imagining the prospect of being able to make his own decisions, his own plans…his own life. What would he be doing? He had no idea.

"Hey, you can have my parents anytime. It's fine by me," Helga said, chuckling abruptly and folding her arms.

Arnold returned the chuckle and shook his head. "No thanks, I think I'm fine with my own…"

"Did any of you happen to hear whatever became of Lila?" Helga asked, while Arnold's sentence trailed off. She shot this question more at Gerald and Harold, who, up to this point, silently fumed in the front seat. Gerald simmered in his own thoughts, while Harold gritted his teeth as Gerald's song concluded itself.

Harold loosened slightly as the song went off. "Well, yeah, her father got a new and better job in some other part of the city and they moved as soon as possible. I heard it was somewhere in district 14 or something," Harold recited, as he turned for the exit onto his desired highway.

Gerald waved off Harold's explanation with a snicker. "Yeah right, man. It's _so_ obvious that that's just a cover-up story for what _really_ happened. Word from my man Fuzzy Slippers is that Lila and her father had to leave…in a _hurry_," Gerald said, beginning to get involved in his own speculations.

"Are you _serious_?" Helga asked, leaning forward against Gerald's seat, taking interest in the conversation. Gerald instinctively moved away from Helga as she hovered over his seat. Subtle repulsion between them was something that the two were used to and expected, so neither of them did as much as blink when such a thing happened. "What happened? Her old man succumb to a life of crime or something? Got lonely and knocked off a couple of women and hid the evidence? Part of some witness protection program after being connected to a murder?" Helga speculated.

Arnold shook his head and looked out of the window in disinterest. "I heard that she got pregnant and left before it was apparent," he conjectured, as he watched Harold merge into traffic.

"Nah, not Lila. Princess Wellington Lloyd, maybe, but I couldn't see Lila anywhere near that kind of stuff," Helga concluded, sitting back in her seat and glancing over at Arnold, who glanced at her with a blank expression. Satisfied with this discovery, she crossed her legs and continued the conversation. "Of course, it would make for a really interesting story. 'Little Miss Perfect stubs her toe,' oopsies," Helga said, laughing abruptly while drawing Lila's name in the dust of the car and wiping it away with a flourish.

Gerald shrugged. "I don't know, I could kinda see that happening to Lila. She's just the type of girl who would…" he said before trailing off. Arnold, quickly growing bored of a conversation about a girl who he hadn't spoken to, let alone seen since his days at PS 118, began again to stare aimlessly out of the window. Helga noticed this and quickly moved on to the next conversation.

"So, Harold, are you looking forward to football camp this year? First chance with the big boys, huh? Although you're already one yourself," Helga piped in, leaning over Arnold to rest her head on Harold's seat, leaving little time for silence.

Harold shrugged. "Well, I guess. Not as much as I'm looking forward to the team, though. They had some pretty good underclassmen last year—carried them almost to playoffs. _That's_ the kind of team I'd like to be part of. And Helga, I'd really prefer that you _not_ lean over my seat while I'm driving." Harold said fluidly, therefore causing Helga to sit back down.

Gerald, finally finding a conversation that he could get into, spoke up. "Aww, come on, Harold, what's with being modest? You know you can carry that team on your shoulders…without shoulder pads," Gerald revealed, causing Harold to crack a smile for the first time since the four had been in the car together. "You know you're making varsity this year. Who knows, maybe you'll even get playing time," Gerald predicted.

Arnold also perked up in the conversation. "It'll be a nice change of pace, that's all I know. I don't care if it _is_ boot camp. For me, it'll mean out of the boarding house, on with normal life," Arnold proclaimed, opening up the window behind him and letting his unruly locks of hair blow in the wind.

"Oh, so you and Gerald are still going out for the team, Arnold?" Helga asked, leaning back in the backseat and scooted herself closer to Arnold, crossing her legs. Arnold smiled at her, also leaning forward as his own comfort level increased. He nodded easily. "What other sports are you going out for this year, anyway?"

"Well, probably football in the fall, and then basketball in the winter…"

"And you _have _to play baseball."

"Oh," Arnold laughed, slightly amused by Helga's sudden input. "And why's that?"

Helga grunted slightly before again changing the position in which she was sitting. "Come on, Arnold, you know had the highest hit record of anyone in District 11. You have to go out for the baseball team…"

Arnold thought about it, and shrugged. "Well, I don't really know. It depends on who's the coach and how good the team is. Gerald, what are you going out for this year, do you know?"

Gerald, once again glad to be in the conversation, leaned back over the seat and looked back at his friend. "Well, football, of course, and probably track come the spring, but I wasn't so sure about basketball for winter. I'm thinking of probably going out for wrestling…"

Before Gerald could finish his statement, Helga broke out in abrupt laughter. "Wrestling, huh? You know what they say about wrestlers, right?"

Gerald, who was neither amused nor phased, eyed Helga coolly. "You know what they say about girls who play basketball, right?"

"You know, Gerald, maybe you can explain something to me. I don't understand why guys get so up tight when you take a joke down to ball level," Helga retorted. With this comment, Arnold stiffened. Both Arnold and Harold were silent as they listened to the stressed exchange between Gerald and Helga.

Gerald, attempting to restrain himself, replied through the cracks of his teeth, "Well, it's kind of obvious, isn't it?"

Helga then blinked as if to claim innocence, then leaned further back in the back seat and narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, well, I'm at least glad my sensitivity is hidden and doesn't hang out on the outside."

"That's it…" Gerald proclaimed. Just as he was about to verbally light into Helga, with whom he never wanted to take a trip in the first place, Arnold jumped into the conversation, placing a finger on Helga's lips. This seemed to cool her substantially.

"Helga, you've been talking non-stop this entire trip," Arnold acknowledged, removing his finger from Helga's lips, only to have her snap at it once it was removed. He chuckled a little, before removing the smile from his face. "I'm serious, Helga. Have you ever thought to just enjoy the ride in silence, to sit back and to take in the scenery…"

"What, the scenery of Interstate 5?"

"No. I mean, like…have you ever just sat back and looked at all the cars rushing by and the parties within them and just imagined what their lives could be like and where they could be rushing to?" Arnold said as he himself glanced out of the window and began to muse. "Have you ever looked at all the places we pass by and wonder what's going on inside?"

Helga raised an eyebrow. "Well, I've always wondered how many people are having sex at night when you pass by their houses…"

"Shh!" Arnold interrupted, as he continued to look out of the window. "Have you ever wondered what we could be doing at this very moment, say, in ten years time? Maybe not even that far in the future—maybe just into the near future. Not only that, but who would you be? That's what times like this are for, to just sit back and dream."

Helga, who had kept up a constant conversation as a response to an overall nervousness, shrugged. "Okay, I guess it won't hurt to do something new for the rest of the ride. And Harold, don't forget what exit we get off on…"

"Hey, who's been driving for over a year now?" Harold asked as he changed lanes to pass a semi. "I think I got it under control…"

But by this time, at least Arnold was no longer listening. He was no longer in the car, Helga was no longer sitting next to him, nor were Gerald and Harold in the same vicinity. He imagined what he'd be doing with himself by that time, next summer. And instantly he was transported…

He saw himself at the boarding house, on the internet with Greg Randolph, the most avid jazz collector known to mankind. With him he traded some of the greatest, most elusive jazz pieces of all time, and Arnold included the trades in his impressive collection of digitally re-mastered ensembles known previously only to the world of 45s. He had been here many days before, such that he was certain that this is where he would be in four years time. But as he changed the track to a Coltrane classic, he came to a familiar point in the dream that was always left unrealized.

Through the loft door came a shadowy figure almost completely in silhouette, slinking across the room with two drinks in her hand. All he could tell from the distance and through the shadow was that her hair tumbled over her shoulders, and that her shape was that of classic beauty. Perhaps it was of a goddess, not as cliché as Venus, but maybe a Minerva, the one whose beauty and reason is often ignored for the fascination with the goddess of love. And the dream always became foggy at the same place, just before Minerva, as he had come to know her, stepped into the light cast by the moon. All he saw was her hand as it offered him the first sip of the drink. And as he touched the drink to his lips and before he got the first taste, the dream was gone.

He awoke again to the backseat of Harold's 1983 Caprice, but this time with Helga leaning against his shoulder with her eyes closed. It startled him slightly to be suddenly aware of her contact, but he was careful not to jump to wake what seemed to be sleep. He listened as she breathed gently, and felt her heart beating on his arm, and he sighed as he looked out the window to see that the streets were no longer familiar to him.

*~*~*~*~*~*

I didn't quite know how to end this chapter, so here it ends. It's been a _long_ time since I've updated anything here, but now that I have summer I've started back. I know I don't have much of my old audience anymore, but that's okay. Read and review, if you will, hehe. Tenks.


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